Page 138 of The Wrong Ride Home

“Sending me away would be a sure way to do it.”

“But you’d be alive,” I said desperately. “Look, it’ll be for a short time and?—”

“I’ll go if you tell me you don’t love me.” She nuzzled her face against me.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Can we sleep now?” She yawned. “I’m hella tired. You can have your nervous breakdown another time.”

Despite myself, I let out a short laugh. Fuck, but she made me happy.

“So, you won’t go?”

“I’ll go if you do.”

“I can’t.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, her breathing even. “You love me, and I love you, and if you think I’m going to walk away, then you’re crazier than your mama.”

I chuckled at that.

“I’m scared,” I confessed.

“Join the club.” She raised her face sleepily to me, her lips pillow soft. I dropped a kiss and groaned into her mouth, one hand tangling in her hair, the other wrapping around her waist, holding on like she was the only thing keeping me grounded.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, “Say you love me.”

I smiled against her lips. “I love you.”

“Good. Crashing now.” Her head slumped against me, and I shifted so I was on my back, and she was as comfortable as I could make her without letting go.

It would take a while, I thought, before I could haveher out of my sight, so it was a big fat joke that I thought I could stand to see her leave the ranch and me.

“I love you,” she mumbled, mostly asleep.

She did, I thought; happiness like I’d never felt shined through the dark, burning the past to ash.

Yeah, we were going to stay together and fight this—we’d move forward without fear.

CHAPTER 42

elena

Iwas out by the makeshift stables, brushing down Riot, trying to clear my head, when I heard the low rumble of an engine pulling up.

With the barn and stables gone, we’d had to get creative. A few of the larger turnout pens had been converted into temporary shelters, reinforced with extra fencing and canvas tarps to keep the worst of the wind and sun off the horses. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep them safe and settled until we could rebuild.

The scent of charred wood lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of everything we’d lost, but the work didn’t stop. Standing around feeling sorry for ourselves wasn’t going to fix a damn thing. Because the horses still needed care, the cattle needed to be moved between pastures, the fences checked for breaks, and the water troughs cleaned and filled. Tack needed mending, feed bins had to berestocked, and the breeding schedules had to be managed.

The ranch dogs still needed running, the bunkhouses needed maintenance, and the supply run for town couldn’t be put off much longer. Hell, even the paperwork alone was piling up—grazing leases, contracts, vet reports, payroll for the hands.

The daily grind didn’t wait for fires or for us to lick our wounds.

There were cattle to doctor, calves to brand, irrigation lines to check, and equipment to repair. The hands had already started clearing out the burnt wreckage of the barn and stables, but that was just the beginning—rebuilding would take time, money, and manpower.

It didn’t matter what had happened the night before, Wilder Ranch kept moving, and so did we.

I ran the brush down Riot’s flank, my movements slow and steady, more for my own sake than his. The big stallion had handled the chaos better than most—a little rattled but still standing strong.

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